The Winter Boy

by Sally Wiener Grotta

  “And you, Dac?”

  Dac continued to stare at the pieces of the game, working out his next move. He moved his nought. “Ha! You thought I was beaten didn’t you? You’ll never win, Thim, because you don’t persevere. You’ll be beaten in seven moves.”

  “Dac?” I had imagined all kinds of responses from him, but certainly not to be ignored.

  He looked at me for the first time since I had sat down. “If you get me my freedom, I will fight for your peace.”

  I didn’t know what to say. Had it been too easy? Could I trust him? Did he understand all I was asking of him? But, when I looked at him, I saw the smile spreading across his face. And I believed him, despite all the lingering disgust I felt for what he had done to me. This man was a fighter, and he had vowed to fight for my dream.

  He held out his hand, and I hesitated only a moment before I clasped it. “Thank you, Dac; I am honored to have your promise.”

  Bisrit argued with the headman for days. Eventually, what convinced him to let the three men leave was that he risked little by doing it.

  Bisrit and I joined many other Murat who walked to the stream with Dac, Thim and Wen, to honor their promise, and our dream of peace. It was like a festival procession, filled with laughter and chatter, singing of hope.

  Before stepping into the water to cross into Mukane land, Wen turned to me, put his hands on my shoulders and said, “You have our promise, Meysrit, and our thanks. We will teach our people that peace must come.”

  Thim embraced me and whispered in my ear, “You are an amazing woman. I would take you with me, but I haven’t the right, for all that I did to you when I didn’t understand. When we win your peace, I will return and ask for you.” Then he kissed my hands and said for all to hear, “Meysrit, I vow to you that we will make our people listen.”

  Dac stepped toward me, with a grin so large that I did not recognize him. Then he reached for his knife in his belt, which had been restored to him, took my hand in his, and, before any Murat could jump to my defense, cut the meat of my thumb and sucked my blood into his throat. He had no words for me, just the blood vow. The three turned their backs and crossed the stream toward their home.

  That night in our hut, to celebrate, I told Bisrit of the child I carried. He simply nodded. “Don’t you have anything to say?” I asked.

  “Meysrit, you are my heart and mind. Did you think I would not notice?”

  “But you said nothing.”

  “Neither did you.”

  “Are you pleased?”

  He pulled me into his body and whispered to my flesh, “More than I could ever say.”

  That night, we held each other in our sleep, as we had many nights. It was an uncommon joy made common by daily practice. Finally, I realized, I could allow my feet to rest.

  Five days later, the Mukane attacked.

  No more or less bloody than other battles, this one was, nonetheless, more destructive for being focused on the Murat home village. Bisrit was slain, trying to keep two Mukane from dragging me out of our hut. Dawn came running and screaming toward us at the same moment, and was struck down by a killing blow. When the Mukane men were done with me, I bled my unborn child into the earth, then lay in the bushes, waiting to die.

  The great-grandmother found me where I lay, willing myself into oblivion. When the Mukane were taking our women away with them, she hid me. Days later, when I returned to my body, the first sight to fill my eyes was her. She was so changed I didn’t know her. But, soon, my mind filled with her and our memories together, and I recognized my own unfathomable loss in her horror-stained face. She tried to show me their graves, to tell me what she had done for them and who still remained to rebuild the village. But I could not hear those words. As soon as I could walk without falling, I asked for her forgiveness.

  “Why, Meysrit? For living, when they died? Then I must ask you to forgive me.”

  “No, Mother, for being a coward. For causing this horror with my foolish dreams.”

  “The dream is not foolish. Those who continue to fight when they no longer remember why, they are the fools. Give it time, my daughter. When those who fight have killed each other off, the dream will remain and guide the living.”

  “Perhaps, but I can no longer believe in it. The dream is dead with all that I loved. I cannot stay here. Would you come with me? Nothing remains to hold you here.”

  “My feet hold me here, just as yours must flee. But you knew that the first time you saw me, did you not? My left foot drags behind me, pulling me into the grave beside all whom I have birthed and buried. Yet I live. I wish I could learn the secret of dying, to shake this earth from me. You are the last of my family, Meysrit. I would have you free of all this. But I would want you to stay by me until I die.”

  I hated myself for leaving her, not helping her live out her life. But I burned inside with rage for the murder of Bisrit and Nasserit and all the others, for my shame in having spread the cancer of hope. I would go into the wilderness and die. I would walk until my feet finally stopped, and there I would wait, alone, because I didn’t deserve to share my death with anyone. How could I, when I had proved myself so unworthy of sharing life?

  I left the great-grandmother there, beside the graves of all we had loved. Out of habit, I took my pack, knife and walking boots. But I emptied the pack of the food and water she had put in it, as soon as I knew she could no longer see me, regardless of how long and hard she watched.

  For the second time in my life, I turned my back on the ashes of my home village. My babies and my man were dead. Where my feet would take me did not matter. One foot in front of another and another, they carried me. The days and nights melded into a single grey, walking nightmare.

  Some time later ~ how much later I cannot say, though my great thirst did mark days passing ~ I glanced back from where I had come. And I saw, on the horizon, two figures running toward me. Fine, I thought, death comes in pairs. I will sit here and await them. As they approached, I recognized the strange lopsided gait of one whose legs would never really be the same, no matter how hard I had tried. At that, too, I had failed, as I had failed with everything that really mattered. What a dolt I had been to think that such a man could ever be turned! I closed my eyes and waited for Dac to come and end my suffering. I could ask no less of my enemy than death.

  I felt them approach. They were out of breath from their run. I prepared for the blow, but it did not come. Instead, they sat by my side and waited.

  Eventually, I opened my eyes. To my right was Wen. His breath was still ragged, but it wasn’t exhaustion that I saw. His face was weary ~ if I could believe my eyes ~ with shame. And Dac, who sat to my left, actually appeared concerned. He held out a water flask. When I didn’t take it, he pressed it against my lips, pouring the water into me while gently holding the back of my head. Despite my resolve to die, my throat hungrily gulped the liquid. But he would not let me have my fill.

  “Slowly, Meysrit. Let your stomach remember the feeling of water,” Dac said. He wet a cloth with the water and began to bathe my face. I shrank from his touch. Wasn’t it supposed to hold a knife?

  Then I heard Wen’s voice. “Meysrit, are you okay?” I saw the boy, who was a boy no longer. “We were so worried about you when we heard… Damn it, Meysrit, we couldn’t stop them. We tried. You’ve got to believe me, we tried, but they were already setting out. They’d been preparing for war all winter. They couldn’t… wouldn’t… hear us. Please Meysrit, do you understand? Dac, do you think she understands?”

  Dac allowed me to drink some more water, but he held the flask. “Yes, Meysrit understands. That’s what she does best, isn’t it Meysrit?”

  “Dac? Where’s your knife?” I asked.

  “Here it is, Meysrit. Do you need it for something?” He held out his blade, with the handle pointed toward me. When I didn’t react, he placed it on the ground between us.

  I couldn’t fathom what game he was playing this time. But Wen, dear Wen, and Th
im. Thim had promised to return for me.

  “Where’s Thim?” I asked Wen.

  “He’s dead,” Dac answered, because Wen couldn’t.

  “Why? Did the Murat kill him during the raid on our village?”

  Wen’s face distorted and he cried out, “Meysrit, don’t you understand? We tried to stop them. Pa stood in their path and they went right through him. His own people… my people… they killed him!”

  “Thim?” Another death to my tally.

  “Yes, Meysrit, Thim is dead. But it was a proud death, a good death,” Dac said. “He did you honor to the end.”

  “Meysrit, you do understand, don’t you? Pa kept his oath, and we will, too. You have to understand.”

  I slept and awoke to find that they weren’t a hallucination. After they fed me, I was able to listen more clearly to what they said.

  “Please, Meysrit, please say you forgive us for failing you.”

  “I failed you, Wen. I should have realized.”

  “No, Meysrit!” Dac interrupted. “You were right. It was our timing that was wrong. That’s all I wanted you to know. We will win this peace of yours, even if it takes our lifetime.”

  “Dac, Wen, I release you from your promise to me. Don’t waste your lives.”

  “Didn’t you understand anything Wen told you about a Mukane vow?” I could hear the old sneer in Dac’s voice, but it seemed somehow more muted, the way he used to talk to Thim when they argued over noughts. “You don’t have the power to release us. It will be done, as we promised.”

  They stayed with me until I regained my strength. When one went to hunt for our food, the other remained by my side. They talked to me about the dream, until I could see its shape again, though it was new and reformed, made fully their own.

  When I was whole once more, they didn’t try to persuade me to return with them. I think they understood I could not go back there, where my future had been obliterated. They filled my pack with food and water and walked with me for two days, to the east, until they were certain I was on a safe path. Then they said goodbye to me.

  Wen held me and whispered into my ear, “My pa loved you, and he wanted to return to you. But he was proud to die, knowing the dream would live. I’ll make your peace, Meysrit, and my children will remember your name.”

  Dac looked at me, grinned, pulled me roughly into his arms and pressed his lips hard against mine. Then he shoved me away from him, pushing the palm of his hand against my back to start me on my path. I did not look around to see them leave.

  So my feet began their journey again, one step in front of the other. My heart was heavy with the pain of my burnt village. But somewhere, deep inside, I could feel the tiny seed of hope that Wen and Dac had planted there.

  Hope is indeed a cancer.

  Chapter 49

  The Allesha heard her Winter Boy’s voice catch as he read the last lines of The Northern Border. Tayar counted a few breaths, to give him time to compose himself before opening her eyes.

  “Why do all these stories have to be about failures?” he demanded.

  “What?” Tayar hadn’t expected him to take that tack and was unprepared for the question.

  Dov’s eyes were streaked with red; his face clouded with angry confusion. “You say I’m supposed to learn how to make peace among people, but all the stories we read are about how impossible that is.”

  “Not impossible.”

  “No? Have we read a single story that shows how peace can be made when people war?”

  “Yes. The one you just read.”

  Dov glared at Tayar. “Her man and children were killed. Her village destroyed.”

  “And her enemy swore to fight for her peace, though it would take him a lifetime.”

  “Even she didn’t believe it would work.”

  “Didn’t she say she took away with her a seed of hope, and that hope is a cancer? In the years that followed, the Traveler devoted her life to finding ways to create peace, refining her approaches. Eventually, she did win.”

  Dov picked up the book to thumb through the pages again. “Where did it say that?”

  “Well, it didn’t say it — not in that story — but that is what happened.”

  “So, did she ever go back? Did Wen and Dac win the Peace?”

  “I don’t know,” Tayar admitted.

  “What do you mean you don’t know?! You said—”

  “What I know relates to the larger issues. The Traveler moved about our land sowing the seeds of hope. Over the years, they germinated until, eventually, they became what we have today — peace wherever the Alleshi and their Allemen are honored.”

  “That’s no good. It’s like talking about a feast at the next full moon, when I’m asking how to hunt for tonight’s dinner.”

  “Still, the story does give us hints. What did the Traveler do that changed the way the Murat and Mukane thought? More to the point, how would you have handled it differently?”

  “No!” Bolting upright to sit against the sofa’s arm, Dov pulled his legs away from Tayar.

  Stunned, the Allesha drew herself up into her corner.

  “I don’t want to do this! No questions and answers and more questions tonight. This story deserves…”

  “Yes?” It wasn’t so much Dov’s reaction to the tale that worried her as his combative tone.

  “I don’t know. But it’s more than a lesson for you to drill into me. It’s Dawn and her great-grandmother and the Healer and Wen. I guess they’re all dead and maybe it doesn’t matter whether they died of old age or war, but… it does matter. So don’t play that game with me tonight.”

  “I didn’t know you considered it a game. I thought we were exploring ideas together.”

  “Sure! And your goat Danide exists only as a pet.”

  “What?” He was veering in too many directions for Tayar to work out exactly where things went wrong.

  “You use her. You get your milk and cheese from her. When she’s no longer useful, I guess you’ll eat her.”

  “How does that relate to our evening conversations?” Tayar asked. “Do you think I’m using you?”

  “How the hell do I know? You don’t tell me anything. You just ask impossible questions and push me this way and that. Skies! They’re as far from normal conversations as Danide is from a pet.”

  “Dov, what’s happening right now is very much like what happened between the Mukane and Murat.”

  “I don’t—”

  “No, you don’t. Still, I can hope that you would.”

  “That I would what?” he demanded through clenched teeth.

  “Tell me, why did the Mukane and Murat continue to war?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “They always had.”

  “Exactly! It was a snake biting its own tail.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “That’s an old saying. When the snake feels the bite, it reacts by biting its tail more, which makes it even more painful, so he’ll bite even harder, and so on. It continues round and round, until it dies. If the snake could learn not to bite in reaction, it could break the cycle and live. But the snake doesn’t even recognize that he’s the source of his own problems. Instead, it reacts instinctively, in anger and pain.”

  “Yeah, so what?”

  “Why are you angry at me, Dov?”

  “You think you know all the answers. Why don’t you tell me why I’m angry.”

  “Because you were upset by the story, and all that emotion got in the way of your thinking clearly. Once it started churning, you didn’t know how to stop it. Like a snake biting its tail.”

  “Fire and stones, woman! Why can’t I just be angry at you? At always being pushed and pulled, being told what to think and feel, what to do, how to do it. You never stop, you never let me be.”

  Tayar felt a hard knot twisting in her chest, recognizing the signs. This shouldn’t be happening now. Not Conflagration. Not yet.

  “I’m a good lover,
a good man. I don’t need to be treated like this, like a kid who doesn’t know how to think, what to do with his hands, how to be himself. I’m the headman’s grandson! I’ll probably be headman. I’ve got a good woman waiting for me. Who the hell are you to tell me what to do, what to think?!”

  “Dov—” How do you stop a snake from biting its tail? Distract it by inflicting new pain or giving it something even more interesting to bite. Are my only choices to hurt or be hurt?

  “So you have an inner room and all kinds of sex craft. Well, it isn’t enough anymore to make up for making me feel like this.”

  But if we’re in Conflagration, I have no choice but to go forward with it.

  “Don’t you dare.” Her voice was low, simmering with ferocity. “You’re angry. So what? What are you going to do about it? Destroy yourself? Fine. I’m going to bed.”

  When Tayar turned to walk away, something in Dov cracked. He caught her by her arm and spun her around, so they were face to face. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Away from you.” She tried to turn, but he clasped her upper arms tightly. She didn’t bother struggling.

  “You talk of truths, woman. Well, here’s one for you. I see you for what you are. I see your lies and your games, and I’ve stopped playing them.”

  “Only a child talks of games.”

  “A child, heh?” Dov tightened his hold once more, lifting Tayar off her feet, so that she was like a rag doll, dangling in the air. Yet her face was rigidly unmoved, her eyes fixed on his.

  Releasing her, he pushed her away in disgust. She almost lost her balance — but only almost. Calmly, even gracefully, after the first faltering steps, she brushed away the wrinkles in her sleeves where he’d grabbed her and settled into the nearest armchair. She even reached for a book and opened it, as though it were over for her, and all she wanted to do was read.

  He snatched the book from her and flung it across the room. When he reached down to grab her, she kicked out with both legs, propelling him backwards into the opposite chair.

  Tayar leaned forward. Though her face remained an impassive mask, her entire body pulsed with danger. “Boy, you have no idea how close to disaster you are.”